It rained last night; hard.
gales of wind; ruthless wind,
amassed mounds of clouds,
black clouds,
relentlessly
from the northwest,
advancing
fiercely,
fearlessly,
over tree tops, whipping them,
lashing them, into
frenzied brocades of branches
then drenching them barbarously
in a deluge of torrential brutality.

It furrowed, then,
this ruinous wind,
this emboldened rain,
deep into our woods
to the slumbering creek beds which lay calm
and guileless
as it charged them, ruthlessly,
rushing them until
they were surfeited;
full to overflowing,
their once placid currents unstable,
unsure, within their customary banks.

It woke us, this buffeting blast,
this obdurate rain,
nocturnal invader of aberrant tears
crashing onto roof tiles and flashing,
sheeting downward
over gutters and downspouts
and we lay awake helpless, hopeless
listening to its mission;
its maniacal crusade
to drench everything, all,
in its relentless waters.

I've been hiding.  I've put my head in the sand and hope no one sees the rest of me sticking out.

I can't take it any more.....all the stuff....all the crap...all the pain, the violence, the hate, the retaliation, the hubris, the rhetoric, the disingenuousness.......the anybodies that are in the news....making news....creating news.......they are all ......absolutely all ......completely full of shit!!! 

 And I'm sick of it.  Sick at heart.  Sick at soul.  Sick to death of death and dispair and ego and pride and arrogance.....

I'm sick of hearing Bush open his mouth.  Sick of "Condi" and her artificial attemps at "diplomacy'.  Sick of Blaire and his puny, if not ridiculous olive branch.  And all the rest of them.  Our world leaders!!!  Where the hell are they leading us???  Hell???

I'm sick of Hamas and Hizbollah.  Sick of Al Queda.  Sick of Isreal and Lebanon.  Sick of Shite and Suni and Kurd.    Of Sudnaese rebels   Oh yes, and of us, of course........US....the universal calvalry to the rescue who can't ever rescue our own selves.......

I'm sick of war.  And killing.  And destruction.  And suffering.  I'm sick of seeing flag-drapped caskets......of all Nationalities...... or the broken bodies of children. 

I'm fucking sick of DEATH!!!

My stomack gets knots in it.  Huge knots.  And I greive.  Oh my Lord, for the babies who have been killed, for the mothers, the sisters, the brothers.  For the fathers......oh God, I just ache for them.....for their sense of hopelessness, for their pain and desperation.

And I'm sick of my own futility.  Of not being able to do anything except try to hold peace within myself and pray that it's enough and that it spills out into world awarenss.  I'm sick of realizing that when this fails, my sense of futility feeds the Beast......giving It what It craves......and so continues feeding the very pattern I abhor.

And so I hide.  So it won't get to me.  So I won't see the destruction or hear the wailing of dispair.

I work in my gardens.  I read.  I watch "Tammy and the Bachelor"  on AMC.  It's inane stuff.  Mind candy stuff.  It numbs for a while, like novacaine.

But then I stand in line at the store and amid the glossy magazine covers of Jennifers, Jessicas, Angelinas and Paris', a headline will ambush me!  Attack me!  Like Hizbolluh or Isreal.  And I grab my stomach, grab my receipt and leave, dripping the blood of my consciousness across the parking lot.

Non-attachment.

I know non-attachment.  I preach non-attachment!!   I practice non-attachment.  Okay, I try. 

But this.  Oh God, how I wish I weren't attached to this!!!!!

I just don't get it.  That's the problem.  I just can't see the long view.

For all that I understand, there is just so much I don't understand.

Why does this keep happening??  Over and over and over;  generation upon generation for centuries.....death, distruction, ego, arrogance.

It never stops!!!!! 

Not only that, but it serves no purpose......unless, you count armament sales or population control.    And those are pretty shoddy purposes, don't you agree??

We have volumes upon volumes of "How Not To" guide books.

I know we've read them.  People talk about them all the time.  Churchs and synagogues and mosques and ashrams are full of people who have read all these wonderful manuals on "How Not To". 

and yet we do it.   Again and Again and Again.

How does it  all work??  When does it all work?? 

I can't take seeing blood anymore.  Can you?

I can't take this hemorrhaging  of consciousness anymore.  Can you?

Are you?

Or is it just me and my misguided spiritual path?

Can someone recommend another manual?

A good one, this time..........for a better understanding of all this?

And does anyone have a Band-aid?

 

 

 

The skies had been threatening rain all day.  Dark clouds crept sullenly across a grey smugged sky that only yesterday had been a perfect blue.  I was driving home; it was late afternoon, around 4:30pm.  I was using the van because I had gone to town to pick up carpet from our new offices.  It needed to be returned the next day.  The rug company had delivered the wrong color, the wrong style, the wrong warp.....the wrong everything....and rather than mess with scheduling a pick up and falling further behind on the project, I'd taken it upon myself to return the darn thing and get the right one.

 Construction of the new offices seemed to be plagued by these small mistakes, none of which were remarkable but all of which added up to a comedy of errors.  This was just one more minor frustration in a myriad of minor frustrations, however, together, these frustrations were slowly building, and like the ominous sky above me, were threatening my usually peaceful demeanor.

I was no more than a half mile from home when the van began to sputter, the engine choking and missing out.  The fuel gauge said half full and none of the dashboard panel lights were on.  At a quarter mile from home, the ‘check engine' light came on and the vehicle died, sputtering and gasping as I coasted to a full stop the side of the road.  I turned the key but the starter would just grind and whine, not turning over.  "Well, crap," I said.  "This is just fucking great."

I climbed out from behind the wheel and looked up at the sky.  Black clouds, brooding and petulant, seemed menacingly close.  I opened the rear hatch to the van and slide the carpet roll toward me.  It was very heavy and the burlap backing was coarse and scratchy against my skin.  I heaved the roll up on my shoulder, determined to walk the quarter mile to my home and call it quits on a good day gone from bad to worse.

Three feet from the van the "splat, splat, splat" of heavy rain drops splattered around me.  The air flushed a peculiar shade of Chartreuse, everything, trees, houses, shrubs, tinged with green.  Again, I looked up.  What I saw was at once both terrifying and mesmerizing.  Two cloud banks, opposing one another,  began rotations toward one another.  Each was creating a magnificent sfumato spiral, folding in, over and upon itself as if a it were becoming some sort of nebulous nautilus.  My skin prickled and my heart began thudding rapidly.  Something deep within, something primeval, recognized danger and triggered an occult fear.

"Oh my God, that's a tornado!"    

I heaved the carpet roll higher on my shoulder, the weight of it creating an off-camber cant as I trotted quickly as I could toward my house.  My thoughts, my only thoughts were of getting home and hurrying my kitties down into the basement for safety.  The wind began driving headlong into me making the heavy carpet roll an impossible impediment.  I abandoned it to the roadside as I stole another look skyward.

 "OH My God!"

A perfect whirling vortex was dipping down from the churning turbulence of clouds just west of my home.  The large column of fury was kicking up debris and destruction like a slender fingertip marking an impression through the sand.

"Cut through the neighborhood"

My thoughts were no longer my own, but a gentle voice guiding me, exhorting my every move.  I ran through neighbors' yards, past swing sets and wading pools, past dog houses and clotheslines.  I ran as fast as I could, rain pounding hard against my face and the wind pressing me violently away.  I could see that raging column thundering relentlessly toward the roof line of my home and an icy chill swept over me, "You're not going to make it!  Hurry!!  Hurry!!"  So I ran!! Pressing headlong into the wind thinking no other thought other than that of the safety of those I loved.

I rushed breathless through the front door.  Reesie cat was waiting there and I scooped her into my arms.  "Where's your brother, baby girl?" I asked her just as Riley Joseph appeared near the stairs.  "Riley, come" I shouted at him, the noise outside the house was unbelievably deafening.  With two cats in my arms, I fled down the basement steps only to hear the sharp, piercing crack of splintered wood and siding, my home was being shattered, ripped from its foundations.

I sat up in bed with a jolt; breathing hard; heart thumping wildly in my chest.  Reesie girl was curled next to me on my right and my husband's breath was slow and rhythmic in his slumbers.  Reesie began to purr.  She lifted her head and opened her eyes as if asking "did the alarm go off, Mom?"  I patted her reassuringly and lay back down.

"It was just a dream.  It was just a dream.  It was just a dream.

Above the thudding in my chest, the guiding voice returned, "You must write this down."

And so I have.

Beneath this willow, the shade is cool.

It soothes the strident glare of sun

with lambrequin leaves

listing languidly earthward.

Torrid ethers, once harsh, scorch now

only that which is of its own acerbic self.


The cerulean sky is beguiling

It beckons entreatingly behind

clouds gliding on Boreas’ breath;

Breeze-swept dreams of flocculent fancy,

Lingering wisps of longings long past.


Felicitous facades, entwined with hubris,

fade wraithlike into vacuousness,

and arrogant aplomb pales; blanched in this bluing,

the inebriant inspiration of indigo


This willow’s boughs, a burgeoning bulwark, 

a sanctum vaulting through azure which stays the soul.

Lapis light of ethereal sky, assuage the bone-weary worn

in a virid lea of leaf and twig and limb.

Envelope me thus, lissome luminance,

embrace this earthenware of mortal mold.

I realized today that I haven't been hurt in a long time....not emotionally, anyway.  Oh sure, I've stubbed my toe, had the headache from hell, or a bad bout of the flu........but I haven't hurt the way one does when something/someone you were counting on, investing dream-time in, creating elaborate plans around...........when that someone/something comes crashing down as burning rubble all around you.

Abruptly, without warning......from your blind side.

It stings. 

 A lot.

You see, I have this humongous dream (okay, huge by my standards), and have had for quiet a while now.....a few years......and over the past few weeks this dream of mine had taken a dramatic turn toward being realized.  All the pieces were beginning to fit together.....a wonderful collaboration was forming.......investments were being made......speculation had turned to concrete plans and conversation.  It was wonderful!

Instead of dreaming......I'd taken to envisioning and all that entails..........decorating, stocking, promoting.  Glorious stuff from the realms of the imagination to the material.  Fabulous feeling!

I was nervously anxious.......the excited kind of anxious one gets in the throws of grand anticipation. 

Today, though, the rug was pulled out from under the entire enterprise.......okay, not the entire enterprise......but MY part of it.  The collaberation is in tack, the investments are forging ahead, the conversations are continuing.  However, my little segment of the collaboration has been axed, my personal investment is no longer viable and my voice in the conversation has petered out. 

It's very much, I would assume, like the way it feels when an actor's only line of dialog is cut from a feature film and is left on the editing room floor.

I've been edited.

I'm not liking being edited.

It stings.

and Stinks!

So, being entirely emotionally wrought, as you can most likely imagine.......my Spiritual Self steps up and says...."okay, here's a test for you.  It's a biggie.  Well, bigger than we've tagged you with in a while."  "You're always so ready, Lexie, to preach the sermon about 'emotions being the signal flags of Spiritual awarness, well, let's see you walk the talk.  How're you gona handle this one, Babycakes?"

(my Spiritual Self is very fond of calling me 'Babycakes' for some reason.)

"Oh go away",  I said,  "I'm really not in the mood for your philosophy right now."

"That's just the point, Lexie girl.  You sure as hell don't need an umbrella when the sun's out and it's pouring cats and dogs right now."

"Oh just shut up with all your stupid, silly metaphors!" I said.  "There comes a point when a person gets a little sick and tired of all the crap and just wants to wallow in self-pity for a while, don't you know that by now?"

"You do know you just used the lower case "self" not the higher "Self" don't you?"

"STOP IT!  Stop it!  Stop it! Stop it!" I said.  "You're getting on my last nerve!"

"Well, look at you Miss Thang, gettin' all up and at us all of a sudden.  Do you want Us to leave?"

"'YES!  Leave me in Peace, please!  For God's sake!"

"If we leave, you will hardly be in peace, you know.  And we wouldn't be doing it for 'God's sake'.

"Why can't you just let me BE, for a change?"

"Perhaps because BE-ing doesn't remotely resemble what your being."

******* a long silence******** 

"I know," I say finally.  "Look, I just want to sit here and cry for a while.  What's so wrong with that?"

"Absolutely nothing.  However, how does that serve you?"

********another long silence********

"It doesn't, " I acknowledged.  "So okay, my All Mighty, All Knowing and All Powerful Guides, help me get past this, then.  I mean, it totally sucks to feel like this!"

"First, drop the attitude.  You've gone way up your ego's ass right now."

"I have?"

"You know you have.  Just look at yourself."

"Oh please, you're not pulling that ol' "Become the Observer" chestnut out again, are you?"

"Hey, it works.  If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"Oh my God!  What on Earth did I do to screw up so badly as to deserve the only Spiritual Guides in the entire universe who quote platitudes?!  Mercilessly, I might add!!"

"It wasn't Earth, it was Zaeghar."

"Pardon?"

"It was on the planet Zaeghar, not Earth, that you did what you did to deserve Us."

"Oh Heaven help me!  You're  making me crazy!"

"If your thoughts are driving you crazy, better look to see who's behind the wheel?"

"Is that an orginial platitude??  Needs some work."

"You don't say.  Okay, how about 'When you flip the switch to enlightenment, it not unusual to blink a little.'"

"Umm, it's better but still needs some polish."

"Oh.  We suppose you'd rather have someone more poetic like Gibran or Emerson or Thoreau."

"Are they available?"

"Very funny.  You're avoiding the problem here, Lexie."

"So I am"

"Is this going to be your plan of action then?  Avoidance?"

"Seems to be working."

"On the surface maybe, but you know this whole situation will recycle, circle around and bite you on your ass when you're not looking, right?"

"You mean the ass that's holding onto my ego?"

"Lexie.........."

"yeah?"

"Do you really want to repeat this shit?"

"no........."

"So wouldn't it be better to just work through the lessons now rather than later?"

"But it hurts."

"Yes it does."

"And it's not FAIR!"

"No, from where you're standing, no it's not."

"What do you mean 'from where I'm standing'?"

"Can you see the big picture, Lex?  Eternity??  Can you see what you're drawing to yourself from the future?"

"Well, no...........duhhhhhh."

"Now you're just being a little smartass.  Besides, 'duhhhhhhh' is so 1980's"

Okay, how 'bout........Whasssupppp?"

"Cute.  What happened to all the work you did on the Four Agreements?"

"You mean, be impeccable with your word?"

"That; and never assume anything."

"Because it makes an ass........"

"Lex!!!!!!"

"Oh wow.  I just realized something."

"What's that, Lex?"

"I was assuming the final outcome of this whole thing.  In my mind, it was a done deal.  A  fait accompli.   I really invested myself into it......I mean, my ego into it.  Wow.  That's why it hurts the way it does."

"Very nice, Lexie.  Now your beginning to work through this."

"Yeah, well it doesn't make it suck any the less."

"Alexandrite......"

"Now you're beginning to sound like my mother."

"Alexandrite Isolde!"

"ooooooo, really like my mother!"

"Come on now, Lexie, straighten up and fly right."

"Will you drop the stupid platitudes?"

"Will you try to stop being so judgemental.....ie, the word 'stupid'.......especially with Spirit Guides?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay then.  Let's continue.  Long ago you came to the realization that all things happen for a reason, right?"

"Yes."

"And that all things work toward the greater good, right?"

"Yes."

"You're learning how to release and surrender each moment to God, right?"

"Well, I try.  Some things are harder than others."

"Yes, we know.  However, we applaud your attempts.  It's coming along nicely."

"Gee, thanks."

"Then what makes this so different now?"

"Because it's happening to my dream.  To what I was hoping for.  It's.....it's  happening to ME!"

"Exactly!!  And just who are YOU?"

"Oh, God, this again?!!"

"Exactly!!  See how simple that was?"

"How simple what was?  What just happened?"

"You just came to a deeper realization."

"I did?  What?  What kind of  realization?"

"Give it some time, Babycakes, it'll come to you.  Take care.  We'll be nearby if you need us."

"WAIT!!  That's it??  What is this Realize and Run?"

"That's how it works, Lexie.  You'll be just fine.  Deep down, you know that right?"

"Yeah, I know.  Thank you for being here.  You know even though you make me crazy,  I really love you guys, right?"

"Yeah, we know.  You know we're really you right?"

"Yeah, I know."

 

 

 

She was a little waif of a girl, six maybe seven years old, blond curls, hazel eyes.  Her mother was a nurse; St. John's hospital, OB labor and delivery.  It was Friday evening; pay day, mid-December.  Her mother was off duty but had stopped by the hospital to retrieve her check rather than leave it over the weekend until Monday.

 Snow was lilting earthward like feather-down creating a woolly, white hush over the ground .  Sissy held her mother's hand as they walked across the snowcovered parking lot toward the large red brick building, its windows glowing softly golden against the darkening winter sky.  Her mother's hand was warm but firm, a firmness that reconveyed the "this is my hospital, be on your best behavior" admonition she had recieved in the car upon their arrival. 

They entered the staff entrance near the ER.  The hospital's tiled corridors were brighly lit and bore the astringent scent of disinfectant.  Sissy instinctivley squinted her eyes against the brightness, bringing her hand to her face to rub her nose.  The corridor was wide and long.  There were brown metal doors spaced intermitantly on the side walls with varying peices of medical apparatus, gurneys, carts, wheelchairs, IV poles, placed stategically outside. 

The street shoes she and her mother were wearing made a distinctive "click, click, click" with each of their steps on the marble floor.  The sound was intrusive, unsettling.  It echoed off the walls reverberating loudly and down the hall in front of them.  Nurses in stiff white uniforms like the ones hanging in her mother's closet padded quickly past them, many tossing a hasty greeting over their shoulder as they sped by.  The nurses footsteps were muffled, clad in crepe soles, heightening Sissy's awareness of her own noisy clatter.  She tried to stand upon her tip toes to mute the dissonance but the attempt caused her to lag slightly behind.

"Sissy, don't dawdle," said her mother, tugging gently on her arm.

With that, her discordant "click, click, click" resumed it's timpani against the floor.

The St. John's Hospital business office was at the end of the corrider, past the main lobby and then an imediate left turn past the Chapel which was on the right.  Sissy loved going past the lobby.  There was a life sized statue of St. John standing in a small niche`.  A pair of doves perched on his shoulder; another on  his extended index finger and beside him, gazing lovingly upward, was a little fawn.  Sissy loved the fawn.  When ever she could, she would stroke its smooth, carved neck or caress its stoney, yet delicate ears.